


On the Tip Of...

by halotolerant



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 17:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10470768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant/pseuds/halotolerant
Summary: Roger just wants one thing...(or does he?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt: _Roger/Rafa - oblivious Rafa?_ from **zecurlyone** (thank you! this is probably not what you meant! but thank you! *g*)
> 
> 5 times Roger wanted to rim Rafa Nadal, and 1 time he did *g*

1.

 

“Ah, sorry, wait,” Rafa murmured, clearing his throat, and turned over onto his back, looking up at Roger with the most charming, delightful smile any man could hope to be greeted by. “Sorry, I ready now.”

 

Roger looked at him, at the high colour in his flushed cheeks, the shine in his eyes, the way his tongue moved as he panted.

 

Roger told himself, very firmly, not to hang his head and sigh.

 

Beneath him on the bed, Rafa was spreading his legs, getting his arms hooked under his own knees, displaying himself and it was…

 

Roger clenched his teeth: _Novak’s smash shot, the smell in the non-seed dressing room the one time he’d visited, that cheese in a tube in America…_

 

Reassured he wasn’t going to end this before he’d had a chance to start, he opened his eyes again, and in time to see Rafa blinking up hopefully, somehow innocently despite the spread legs and the stiff, red erection resting heavy on his belly and the totally waxed perineum displaying full, tight balls and that wonderful, dark, delightful hole, twitching as Roger watched.

 

Roger drew the back of his hand over his mouth, and swallowed.

 

“Hmmmm, inside now?” Rafa pleaded, eyeing Roger’s body, and most specifically his cock, in a way that was so casually wistful it made Roger’s heart clench.

 

Other parts of him were getting spasmy too. He’d have time to try again with the other thing – for now why not just go with the pattern they’d established over the course of this thing? Nothing casual should be too negotiated anyway.

 

“OK Rafito,” Roger told him, softly, and reached for a condom. “I’ve got you.”

 

-

 

2.

 

“That tickles!” Rafa half-complained, wriggling on the bed, shimmying a little way along it.

 

Roger couldn’t help smiling, and drew his hands, more slowly this time, along the wide golden expanse of Rafa’s shoulder blades, not dipping lower than his waist on the down-strokes.

 

It had been a long time sine the last chance they’d had to be together, and so today he had a plan. This time, they’d focus on Rafa’s back longer, make it clear that Roger enjoyed this… view. From looking to touching to….well, tasting, call it what it was, would be built up of one careful tactic after another.

 

Something which, honestly, he felt he was as well placed as any man to deliver.

 

Gently, then, slowly, slowly, slowly, he massaged Rafa’s back. This, whatever it was between them, was a physical thing and he was enjoying the slide over the contours, the little dips of the ribs, the definition running along the gutter of the spine that led down, down, down to…

 

“Ngh, Roger.” Rafa bucked up a little, raising his hips. “Roger, I… I make a mess Roger. There is puddle now.” He sounded almost offended.

 

Reaching from behind, Roger slipped a hand between Rafa’s legs. Palm upwards, he cupped him; it was easy to feel the slipperiness and yes, there, below, shiny on the stiff, gold-patterned five star counterpane, a little pool of Rafa’s excitement, just from Roger’s hands on him.

 

“If you like that,” Roger started to say. “If, Rafa, if you…”

 

“Clean me, please,” Rafa said, and huffed, flopping over on his back, offering himself.

 

That at least involved Roger’s mouth, and he had plans to explore that opening further (pun probably intended, if there had been anyone he could make it to), but Rafa in his mouth distracted him, and then Rafa insisted on blowing him, and Roger would have liked to set any tactician in the world, in the universe, to have their plan survive any encounter with Rafa’s tongue, or those deep, lovely, dark eyes.

 

-

 

 

The business of getting Rafa prepped was an obvious position for a segue, and when the thought occurred to Roger (in practice with Sascha, not ideal), it seemed like it might finally be the breakthrough.

 

But Rafa won the tournament, this time, and after that he was always the same, a little more wild, a little rough, a little triumphant, everything with just a hint of teeth, and it was Roger who wound up – blissfully, tremendously, thoroughly – fucked against the wall of the locker-room showers and then again in the hotel room. Rafa’s mouth was hot against his neck – this, this way round, they always _did_ this way round, back-to-chest, doggie style – and he was muttering things in Spanish Roger wasn’t sure he should allow himself to try and translate.

 

In the morning, Rafa was wiped-out, dreamy and loving. Roger probably ought to have taken that as his cue to leave, but instead he took Rafa in his mouth until he hardened, whining about it, hands scratching at the pillows around his head, and sucked him off one more time, not thinking for a moment about anything else.

 

-

 

 

Roger had lost, the next time they met. Lost, and lost badly (which was fine, he’d been there before, been there and done that and come back stronger more often than anyone on the whole damn tour, but still…) and he wanted Rafa’s body the way he hadn’t in a while; compulsively, like it was the first time again, like he’d never touched an inch of his skin, like he had to rediscover each part of him.

 

He kissed at the inside of Rafa’s elbow, at the join of neck and shoulder, at the spot between his pectorals, at the back of his knee. Nothing mattered, compared to the fact that he was allowed this.

 

(No one else had won, who had not won this – he had enough self knowledge to know how that fed into it)

 

Rafa was tender in return, seemed to understand completely, and got half drunk on it too, and started sighing, moaning, not even apparently noticing that he did so. He was limp and lax under Roger’s ministrations, except for that sweet hard fullness at the centre, and Roger could probably have done whatever he wanted, then, but that wasn’t what this time was about.

 

-

 

5.

 

“Like, if you wanna lick Rafa’s arse so bad, just, like, go do it?”

 

Roger blinked and then blinked again.

 

Nick Kyrgios was still standing there, and they were apparently still having a conversation about Nike’s new trainer line, somehow.

 

“Like fuck if I care that they do him some special stupid thing with double flash, whatever,” Nick threw another racket into his bag. “But you don’t need to be all ‘Rafa’s so great he’s such a good ambassador’ to me, yeah? Like, I know I’m not a brand ambassador, OK? Like, that’s a good thing as far as I’m concerned.”

 

Roger blinked. His mouth said words about youth, impetuosity, and Nike’s platforms of reimbursement if you didn’t get fines for swearing and foul language. At some point he bid Nick a good evening, and packed up his practice things from the court and got back to his hotel.

 

Except it wasn’t his hotel. It was Rafa’s.

 

“I want to, um, hello…” Roger managed, standing in Rafa’s doorway. Rafa had been asleep, or near to it, and was rumpled and wearing only a pair of silk boxers that left nothing to the imagination.

 

“Um,” Roger said, and stepped in.

 

Rafa closed the door and turned to look at him. There was something in his eyes, something of hope, something of fear, something very young.

 

“I want to make this official,” Roger found himself saying, urgently. “No more sneaking around, no more waiting weeks and weeks to be together, no more holding back. Fuck, Rafa, I love you, I’m not ashamed of that, and if you…”

 

Rafa made a sudden, high sound and collided with him, grasping tight and entirely indicating that, yes, he did.

 

-

 

+1

 

After that, confessions seemed to get easier, on both sides. There were more hugs, some tears, some long, relaxing walks, hand in hand, no rush to be anywhere else.

 

Roger licked Rafa from tip to toe, and made him come on his tongue twice in quick succession.

 

It had already been a happy ending, but that was extremely nice too.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
